to order the thirdlings and the other dwarf-tribes to get to the south to capture a weakened Lot-Ionan.” He looked at the queen. “With your help.”
“Neatly summed up,” commented Rodario. “I’m with you.”
“Me too,” said Mallenia. “Idoslane will do its bit to free Girdlegard just as it did under my ancestor. We can’t provide an army, but I can fight for you. The rest of my resistance fighters will deal with any älfar still at large. I’ll write to them straightaway. They will watch for a suitable opportunity.”
“Good.” Tungdil seemed satisfied.
Rodario put up his hand again. “How would it be if we were to announce to the people, and not just to the resistance, that Girdlegard is about to be liberated? If we have supporters who have sniffed the wind of freedom and want to rise up against the Lohasbrander and the last vassals of the älfar, they’ll be unstoppable.”
“Girdlegard’s too big for that,” Tungdil contradicted him.
“Somebody shove something in that actor’s mouth. Preferably something sharp,” murmured Hargorin.
Rodario pointed to his throat. “If I had an ugly beard like yours I’d be more careful who I insulted.”
Ireheart grimaced. Dwarves normally enjoyed a joke, even quite earthy ones, but you could not ridicule a dwarf’s beard with impunity. Mockery and fire were the worst enemies of a beard. “Stop that now if you want to get out of here with your life and fine features intact,” he called to him quietly. “Apologize to him…”
Hargorin had sprung up to confront the actor. “You’re just desperate for a beating, aren’t you?” he yelled, waving his fists.
“Forgive me,” said Rodario nicely to the two ladies, then he shot out his foot, fished out the tip of the long beard in question, grabbed it with his right hand and yanked. His left arm flew up and his elbow crashed against the dwarf’s forehead, making him gasp.
Rodario slipped out of his seat without letting go of the beard, pulling Hargorin after him. He pushed his feet against the dwarf’s stomach and overturned him so that he landed on his back on the wooden floor.
The actor did a backwards somersault and ended up sitting on the dwarf’s barrel chest, still holding the beard, which he pulled sharply to one side. Once he had anchored it under his foot the dwarf was completely helpless.
Ireheart had been taken as much by surprise as all the others in the room.
From somewhere or other Rodario had pulled out a knife and was holding it at the dwarf’s exposed neck. “I think it’s a real shame that one is considered a true man only if one can either fight or go round grabbing all the women in sight,” he breathed, but his eyes were hard and were watching for any movement his opponent might attempt. “I’ve convinced you now, haven’t I, Hargorin Deathbringer?”
Mallenia’s picture of the helpless failed actor disappeared in a puff of smoke and Coïra saw him in a totally new light. The women stared at him wondering how this change could have been so sudden. It could only have been that the previous incarnation had been a deceit.
Cool as a cucumber, Rodario let go of the beard, stood up and offered Hargorin his hand.
The thirdling got up without accepting any help. The shame had been too deeply felt and his beard had suffered, too.
Ireheart knew that the leader of the Black Squadron was never likely to forgive Rodario for this. Blood will be spilt.
“A charming interlude indeed,” commented Slîn happily.
“Tell us how an actor learns to fight like that,” Tungdil challenged Rodario.
“And why you took so much trouble not to look like your forefather,” added Coïra. “If I think of you with a beard and mustache you’re the spitting image of him.”
“That’s just what I said,” mumbled Ireheart. “As soon as I saw him clamber on board.”
Rodario returned to his seat and bowed to the ladies. “I must apologize to both of you, because I have been playing a part up till now. But now it is time to remove the veil from the secret of the unknown poet.”
“You? You say that was you?” Coïra exclaimed, laughing in disbelief. She looked at him full of curiosity. “You’re having us on.”
“Impossible,” said Mallenia at once. “You…” She stopped, in confusion.
Rodario bowed as if facing an adoring audience of theatergoers. “But, yes, indeed, I am the unknown poet,” he answered. “Who would ever have suspected me—me who resembled fabulous forefather Rodario so little—of being the freedom-fighter and rabble-rouser, slayer of Lohasbranders